Spread the News

 

And I swore that you had already written me something similar, of this magnitude, that never became more than a page of draft, trapped in the glottis of your cry, in the throat of the kiss that remained framed in that poem, in which I was still the past time of the dream and the present that you unwrapped and, in that time, it was always Christmas, it was always a whole new year and every day I celebrated your permanent existence in me. Today also and still. I just can't touch you. That you are impossible for me to reach, that you have become a star that blazes, among constellations and asteroids.

The fireworks (sacrifice for the animals) keep crackling in the sky, in the darkness that screams the blackness of your absence. But, my love, you are inside, and it is inside that you remain, sheltered from the vultures searching for carrion and blood; the vampires Zeca sang about do not come near you, ever since I have lovingly kept you for life. You have become so deeply within me that not even killing me could reach you, so immaculate and eternal you have become.

 

I watch the seagulls flying by alone, squeaking a pain of mine, the squadrons of stubborn birds, carrying surrenders and divine orders, transporting pieces of faith between their beaks and wings. Stanzas of prophecies fall through the drops of cold rain. Like sealed envelopes, whose destiny is unknown.
The lukewarm curse and put on a new mask, adorning themselves for the great New Year's Eve before the sword of truth descends upon them. I know well that they want me silent. Cruelty will be swallowed in one gulp, by a belly less fertile and more bitter than that of the earth.

Nothing, beyond love and hope, will survive the time to come, at the corner of tomorrow. My longing fulfills itself in every dream where I find you, in every worn photograph where I glimpse your laughter and jokes. The elements gathered in a five-pointed star, earth, air, fire, and water, and the ether of stardust from which we originate. I did not go to Bethlehem, Bethlehem did not come to me, but Vesta is with me, and no sacred fire is extinguished. To be of the world without belonging to it. For I belong to love, and you are the source from which I drink all the elixirs of the gods. Now, my greatest love, compose a symphony with this poem of eighty-six and offer it to the Whole. I will pacify the weeping with joy and kneel in a prayer of gratitude for God keeping you alive, intact, and happy. Only this keeps me captivated to seek you!